Each time I think of my mother in-law, Mary, in her assisted living facility, I feel sad. While today she is in a safe, nurturing environment and is surrounded by people she now calls her friends, I wish the journey we traveled to get her there hadn’t been one filled with anger, anxiety and frustration. Previously, Mary lived in an up-and-down duplex that her husband built at the New Jersey shore. After her husband died, Mary spent winters living with my husband and me in Westlake. For several years, in March, one of us would accompany her back to New Jersey, get her house set up and arrange for someone to give her rides and help with yardwork. All would be well for about a month after her return. We’d talk a few times a week and she’d be in good spirits. But not long after she would decline rapidly—her nutrition became poor, she would complain of loneliness, and she would stay in her bedroom all day watching television and drinking. At about month two we would call her and get...